“You’re a chatterbox,” said Heller.
“Chatterbox . . . chatterbox . . . chatterbox . . . No, sir. I don’t have any such part, sir, and all gears are firm. I am a Mark XIII humanoid-approximation robot manufactured in—”
“Thank you,” said Heller. “Any data you have on current ship condition is required.”
“Yes, sir. I am fine, sir. How are you?”
“Fine,” said Heller. “Is that end of data on ship condition?”
“There is another datum on hold in the eighty-fifth idling memory. I will give you that, sir. Two locational bugs were installed in me, one on the nose, the other on the tail, while I was idle.”
“Ho, ho,” said Heller. “So that’s how the assassin pilot found me. Is there any sign of the other flying cannon?”
“I have no ships on my screens, sir.”
“Very good. Take over control. Stay alert for the second ship. Proceed at low speed toward the coordinates of the black hole earlier recorded from the telescope. Don’t make sudden divergences from course. I will be working inside and outside of the ship.”
“Yes, sir. I am engaged on controls now, sir.”
We began to move in relation to the scattered debris of the flying cannon.
Heller pointed at me and told the cat, “Watch him.” He then went to a locker and began to get out a pressure suit. He inspected it with care and then he put it on.
He got some tools, a paintbrush and paint squirter. He went into the airlock and closed it behind him.
I could hear his magnetic boots clumping on the hull, the sound carried through the metal.
Then I got an awful start. His face appeared on the other side of the viewport, looking into the flight deck.
People in space helmets always look so unearthly, it makes one think of monsters. And to me, Heller was a monster anyway. He had plotted ceaselessly to do me in, he had murdered in cold blood the Antimanco crew, he had just shaken me up like dice in a cup with his insane, suicidal attack on that assassin pilot and here I was, chained to a pipe like some wild animal, completely at his mercy.
I must think of something and do something to get myself out of this. It would only be justice to do Heller in. Somehow I must still accomplish it. I was pretty certain that I could.
PART SIXTY-THREE
Chapter 3
After about half an hour he came back in through the airlock and got out of his pressure suit.
He came back to the flight deck. He had two objects in his hand. He tossed them at me and they rattled against the bulkhead. “You knew those bugs were there, I am sure,” he said. “Sitting on that secret could have cost you your life.”
“I didn’t think it was important,” I said. “The fact that you have taken these off won’t prevent the second pilot from finding us. They can spot the spacial turbulence of your drives. The moment you go near that planet again, the other one will pick us up.” I had a sudden wild idea. “Why not just deliver me to Voltar?”
I scarcely dared breathe, watching him. If I could con him into taking me back home, I would be free and clear. Lombar Hisst hated him and Lombar, unbeknownst to Heller, now controlled even the Emperor.
“You’re the least of my worries,” said Heller. “I’ve got other things to do. I’ve got to get ready for this black hole.”
I shuddered. That could be dangerous. “What do you care about this planet Earth anyway?” I said. “Why don’t you just go home and forget it.”
“It’s a pretty planet,” said Heller. “If I don’t complete my mission, it will become uninhabitable. In another century or less, it will be so chewed up it won’t even support life. Don’t you care what happens to five billion people?”
“Riffraff,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, I guess one sees in others what he finds in himself,” said Heller.
I seethed at the insult. Didn’t he realize that he was talking to the future Chief of the Apparatus? Oh, I’d get even with him before this was over!
He opened a door into the engine rooms and propped it back. From where I was chained, I could watch him. He was doing something very peculiar indeed. On Voltar, an enormous spare time-converter drum had been put in the tight space. They had even opened the top of the hull to get it in. He had a wrench and he was working at the entry port of the huge drum.
The sign clearly said it mustn’t be touched, that it would blow your hand off if you even reached in. And he was unbolting it.
“You’ll blast us apart!” I shouted.
He didn’t pay me any heed at all. He got off the big plate and calmly reached in!
I flinched as I waited for his arms to disintegrate.
They didn’t.
He was pulling out a large object in wrappings. He carried it to the pilot deck and stripped it.
A LASER CANNON!
Oh, the sneaky Devil! That wasn’t a time-converter spare at all! It was simply a way to put aboard equipment and hide it from the view of everyone.
He opened some plates in the overhead. He slid the laser cannon onto already prepared mounts. He shoved its nose into a forward space that would open if it fired.
He went back and got a second device. I did not know what it was. He bolted it in place beside the cannon.
“Why didn’t you install that before we had to fight the assassin ship?” I wailed.
“Oh, these devices aren’t cannon, exactly,” he said. “They wouldn’t have done much to that ship.”
I blinked. They certainly looked like cannons. He was connecting them up to a set of controls on the panel that resembled firing controls.
He fastened down the plates in the overhead and the two devices were no longer in view.
Then he went back to the drum and began to take out what looked like the slats of a dismantled cage. He carried these to the airlock, where he stacked them up. He added some other items to that pile. Then he put the cover back on the drum.
He closed up the engine rooms and sat down at the telescope eyepiece.
“Now that,” he said, “is a very nice primordial black hole. Corky, speed yourself up and get your scanners going on target object. Input all data into banks and calculate.”
The tug did a forward surge.
“Are you going to shoot that black hole?” I said. The man was clearly insane. “It would drink up every round. You might even shoot us through the thing into another universe!”
“Oh, those devices up there aren’t for the black hole. I’m just getting things ready,” said Heller.
What was he up to? If I had some clue as to his plans, maybe I could make him do something so I could get him.
“Well, what do you need a black hole for?” I asked.
“Fuel,” said Heller. “Cheap fuel. They’ll need hardly any oil when I am done.”
Oh, Gods, he was going pell-mell to do in Rockecenter! Didn’t he realize that any solution to the energy problem would ruin the Rockecenter monopoly? I certainly had to think of something that would WORK!
“You hungry?” he said casually. I thought he was talking to me and then I realized he was addressing the cat.
“Meow,” said the cat.
“Keep an eye on the prisoner, Corky,” said Heller.
I railed at my shackles. First I was being watched by a cat and now I was being guarded by a robot tug! Was there no end to this calculated program of degrading me?
I could hear Heller down the passageway. “Now, this is the chief mate’s room,” he was saying to the cat. “You’re promoted. Here’s your pan so you can relieve yourself. And here’s your pillow. Here’s your water bowl and here’s your dish. Now, would you like a can of chicken or a can of tuna? All right, tuna it is.”
I heard him then in the crew’s galley, getting himself something to eat. He came back after a while, sipping at a canister of hot jolt. The cat came back, licking his chops. That did it.
“Aren’t you going to feed me?” I said.
“I didn’t kn
ow that riffraff deserved to eat,” said Heller.
“You’re insulting me,” I said.
“I didn’t think that was possible,” said Heller, calmly sipping his hot jolt.
Rage burned in me. “According to regulations, prisoners must be fed!”
It worked. He handed me the hot jolt canister.
I tipped it up.
It was empty!
“Gods, how you must hate me!” I snarled.
“Hate? That’s a very strong word, Gris. One doesn’t waste hate on a loathsome insect.”
I gripped the canister so hard it crushed.
“Let’s get one thing very clear,” said Heller. “You lured my girl to her death. I am not even willing to go into the aft quarters of this ship because they remind me of her. You prate of duty and regulations: you had better cherish them. It is my duty to take you to trial. It is against regulations to kill a prisoner. Those are the only reasons you are alive, Gris. But I don’t hate you. A thing has to amount to something to be hated. Now shut up, for I have work to do.”
The cold, dispassionate contempt in his voice had been like an icy knife searching out my vitals. A new and horrible thought struck me. If he knew that I had personally killed the Countess Krak, even his sense of duty would not restrain him. I had not fully appreciated how much danger I really was in. Oh, I had better get myself out of this. I furrowed my brow in heavy concentration. I might never live even to get to trial!
PART SIXTY-THREE
Chapter 4
Heller said to the tug, “Keep an eye on your clocks so we don’t accidentally collide with this thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fear stabbed me. “Is that the only way you’re going to know before we hit? How could you read it on that telescope if there’s a time shift?”
“This telescope has a miniature time-sight element in it, but they also leak some gamma rays direct. You seem awfully nervous.”
“I am.”
“Good,” he said heartlessly. “Maybe you’ll get the idea how other people feel when you put them in terror.”
I ignored his moralizing. The hells with how other people felt. Once you got to worrying about that, you never could serve in the Apparatus. Or live with yourself either. I lifted my head to see through the pilot ports. Nothing but black sky and, a long way off, something that might be an asteroid.
“Sir,” said the tug, “I think I’d better brake down from fifty thousand miles an hour.”
“Oh, Gods,” I said. “Don’t have a breakdown out here!”
“Sir, do you wish me to record the remarks of that hostile prisoner, Gris?”
“Store them in transient memory,” said Heller. “He won’t be with us long—or in this universe either, for that matter. Come down to easy braking speed.”
“Yes, sir. I read that we may be only 203.4 miles from the black hole.”
“Good. Keep comparison with your universal, absolute clock and brake the instant we cross the time band.”
“Yes, sir. I have a flashout here from my 123rd subbrain concerning the prisoner, Gris. It is reading purple: Solution. It has been working on the problem. May I give it to you, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“In compliance with the purpose to keep you safe, it is recommended as follows: Prisoner guilty of capital crimes including the ordering of your death. List of bases does not include Blito-P3. A legal point could be stretched and we could plead we were unaware of the existence of an officers’ conference at Blito-P3. Solution: On arrival at black hole, use him as a test and pitch him through to some other universe. Holding for acceptance of solution.”
I glared all around me. Even this tug had turned against me! And what a sadistic tug it was! A monster!
“The idea has merits,” said Heller. “However, the answer is negative.”
“Sir, please reconsider. His brain waves show extreme hostility. If he is going to some other universe as you say, I see no reason to postpone the matter. Your negative is incompatible with the purpose on which I run and is therefore illogical.”
“Store it for future reference. How close are we now to the black hole?”
“About thirty miles, sir.”
Seconds ticked off. “Stand by for time shift, sir. I am braking hard.”
Suddenly there was a dreadful physical wrench. My brain flashed and my heart skipped. The identical sensation one got when entering the gates of Palace City on Voltar. Blast, I hated it!
“The black hole is just three miles in front of us, sir. I am holding.”
I stood up. I looked through the viewports. I couldn’t see anything.
“There’s nothing out there,” I said.
Heller was slamming and locking the viewports.
“Well, you’d be doing pretty good to see it,” said Heller. “It’s no bigger than a proton. That’s one of the reasons they never find these primordial black holes. The other one is we’re now thirteen minutes in the future. Haven’t you ever been in and out of Palace City?”
“I’ve been there,” I said defensively. I needn’t tell him that every time my Academy class went, I had been in punishment drill instead. The only time I’d ever entered Palace City was that dreadful day when Lombar had managed to seize control of this fateful mission to Blito-P3. All Heller’s fault for surveying the place.
“Data,” said Heller.
“Yes, sir. I’ll also duplicate it on printout. Mass, 7.93 billion tons. Expected longevity before final explosion, 2.754 billion years. Exudation, 5.49 billion megawatts. Space sphere warp, 10.23 miles in diameter.”
“Thank you,” said Heller. “Turn around, tail to it. Engage traction towing beams. Set a course for Blito-P3. Engage Will-be Was main engines. When all ready, begin towing. Gong me when we are eight hundred miles above planetary surface so I can assist in adjusting its orbit.”
“Yes, sir.” And the tug got busy complying with the orders.
Soon the subdued thunder of the enormous power plant began to vibrate through the ship. Heller checked the instruments to make sure all was progressing well.
I relaxed a little bit. It had suddenly occurred to me that, being thirteen minutes in the future, we were quite invisible to the remaining assassin pilot. And I was just about to relax when it suddenly flashed across my wits that once we had separated from this tow and were back in normal space, we would be sitting ducks.
Heller seemed oblivious of this. He unrolled a set of plans and began to study them.
He went back to the big converter drum and began to haul out more parts. He piled these in the airlock.
Then he climbed into a scarlet antiradiation suit. Its face mask made him look diabolical to me. A Manco devil in truth! I cowered against the pipes. Oh, Gods, why couldn’t I think of something bright that would get rid of him for once and for all? I must! I must! I must!
He was now climbing into a pressure suit as a second covering. When he put the helmet in place, the mirror dome reflected everything around in twisted distortion. The cat looked fifty feet long. The pilot chairs appeared all out of shape. I looked like I was a little speck cringing in some distant closet. It matched the unreality which saturated my poor, abused mind.
Heller went into the airlock and closed it. Then he opened the outer door. He left it open and I could see through the inner door ports. He had a long safety line on himself. He set up a rudimentary bench that simply sat on empty space. He began to get to work assembling something.
He had left the plans inside, pinned across the pilot port. They were very curious.
It looked like a huge umbrella. Just below the mantle was a sort of cage. Below that, what would be halfway down the handle, was a big ring marked CONVERTER. And at the bottom was a huge ring that said WEIGHTS.
I looked out through the inner ports. He was putting the mantle together. It was nothing more or less than a sectional mirror which, assembled, would have great size.
He got that done and put together the next item, whic
h looked like a cage: it had a lot of prongs pointed toward the center. He fastened it on a rod which went to the peak of the mantle.
Next he assembled the plate which was labeled, on the plans, CONVERTER.
That done, he hung the weights on the bottom of the rod.